


Stay (Faraway, So Close)

by Eyes_of_a_Tragedy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Because Balthazar, Bisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Comfortably Bisexual Dean Winchester, Doctor Castiel, Domestic Castiel, Ellen & Jo Live, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Minor Character Death, My First Fanfic, Not Beta Read, Slow To Update, So do a bunch of other canonically dead characters, Song Lyrics, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Tags May Change, Texting, Warnings May Change, gratuitous use of pet names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:35:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyes_of_a_Tragedy/pseuds/Eyes_of_a_Tragedy
Summary: "He looked down at the bottle of beer in quiet contemplation. He didn’t drink alcohol very often anymore, but it had been a grueling week at the office, and he felt the need to break the monotony of his everyday routine. The label stated the beer was an organic honey ale. Castiel smiled at the picture of a bee above the wording. He’d always liked bees."Dr. Castiel Novak has had a rough week at work and needs to unwind. Dean Winchester needs to sober up. (Crappy summary, sorry.)Inspired by song lyrics.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaltyWords (agent4hire22)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/gifts), [KreweOfImp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KreweOfImp/gifts).



> For SaltyWords because, when I gave you the prompt eons ago, you pretty much said, “Nope! You do it.” Damn you. Also, for being an awesome cheerleader. *squishes you and dumps confetti on your head* I adore you, doll!
> 
> And KreweOfImp because a long time ago, in a really dark place, you wrote something that was brave and cruel and harsh and sogoddamnedbeautiful to me. It ripped my heart out, and I couldn’t not comment. My friend, whether you realize it or not, Half the Naked Distance changed something in me. It made me remember I was capable of deep-thinking and analysis. It fueled the commentator in me, which led to commentary on Salty’s work, which led to a shot-down prompt, which led to this train wreck of what might possibly be a longer story. <3
> 
> You're both to blame for this mess. :P
> 
> The lyrics used in this fic are from Stay (Faraway, So Close) by U2. It's a song that has always spoken to me. I don't know how to link it, but if you want to copy and paste: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7da48kn4sE

After an extremely long week of listening to the problems of his patients, Dr. Castiel Novak pulled his gold Continental into the parking lot of the local watering hole, The Roadhouse. Classic rock played from the jukebox as he walked through the doors. He wandered over to the bar, took off his trench coat and hung it carefully on the back of one of the stools before plunking down onto it. A lovely, middle-aged woman was tending bar; she gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement as she doled out beverages.

Once she was done, she came over to him and asked him what he would like to order. “Can I get a bottle of beer?”

“I’ve got plenty of beer here. Got anything specific in mind?” she asked with the mildest hint of irritation in her voice.

“Not really,” he replied.

She snorted softly and retrieved a brown bottle from one of the refrigeration units behind the bar. She returned with the beverage and handed it to him. “Do you want to start a tab or pay as you go?”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll pay now.” He pulled his wallet out of the inner pocket of his coat and handed her a twenty. “Keep the change.”

Her demeanor warmed. “Thanks. Name’s Ellen. You let me know if you want anything else, ya hear?” Castiel inclined his head and she left to assist another customer.

He looked down at the bottle of beer in quiet contemplation. He didn’t drink alcohol very often anymore, but it had been a grueling week at the office, and he felt the need to break the monotony of his everyday routine. The label stated the beer was an organic honey ale. Castiel smiled at the picture of a bee above the wording. He’d always liked bees.

He wasn’t planning on staying long, just long enough to have a drink, quiet his thoughts and relax a bit. He rolled the flavor of the ale around on his tongue, trying to decide if he liked it. But he quickly found his thoughts wandering to all of the tasks he should be taking care of at the office. January in a medical office was the equivalent of hell. His staff was stressed out, patients were quarrelsome, insurance companies were in the process of changing policies and coverage. It was enough to have even the calmest of heads exploding. Castiel should be updating diagnosis codes and recording his patient notes in the office’s electronic database, refreshing himself on the next week’s patients’ progress and reviewing the previous year’s AR ledger. But he just didn’t have it in him to remain in his office once his staff had left for the day. He needed a break, a change of scenery.

Sighing, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and unfastened the top two buttons, loosening the collar he felt was symbolically choking the life from him. His tie had been abandoned as soon as he got in his car. He buried a yawn in his hand and pillowed his head on his arms for a few seconds. Then he drained the last of his drink and flagged down Ellen.

“I would like another of the honey ale, please.”

She smiled at him. “Something told me you’d like that one. Can I get you anything else? Something to eat?”

He declined the offer of food and waited while she uncapped his beer and set it down on a paper napkin in front of him. “That one’s on the house. Let me know if you change your mind about the food.”

Castiel nodded his thanks and sipped at the brew. After a few minutes, he stood up and wandered over to peruse the selection of music on the jukebox near the door. His music tastes were eclectic, to say the least. He listened to everything from requiem masses to rock. It didn’t really matter, as long as the song spoke to him melodically.

He found one of his favorite U2 songs and queued it up. It had always evoked so many emotions in him—sadness, loneliness, longing for more. It was pretty much a perfect reflection of how he saw his life. But it also gave him hope for some reason. There wasn’t necessarily anything in the lyrics that conveyed that emotion, but that was what he found so beautiful about music. It was open to interpretation.

He let his head drop forward as the song began playing. It was slow and easy, but it built as the first verse progressed. With his hands pressed to the sides of the jukebox, he closed his eyes and lost himself in the gentle strains of electric guitar, the soft rhythm of drums, and the tenor of Bono’s voice.

*************

Dean was sitting at the far end of the bar, leather jacket slung across the back of his stool, nursing a tumbler of scotch. He was tired. Bone-deep weary and flat out exhausted. He should be at home, sleeping. He’d been pulling 12-hour flag days at Bobby’s garage and was due back at 9:00 in the morning. But for reasons unknown, he found himself sitting with his friend Johnnie Blue, getting dimmer by the moment.

Ellen had taken his keys from him an hour ago. Not out of concern for him—she’d threatened to bunk him with Ash if he didn’t sober up by closing time. No, she knew Dean. She wasn’t going to let him risk his Baby because he couldn’t hold his liquor. He’d never tell her, but Dean loved her for knowing when to pull rank.

So there Dean was, keyless, not nearly as drunk as he’d like to be, and thinking thoughts that were verging on self-pity. He missed having someone around. Sammy was his reason for being for so long, and when he left to go back to college Dean found himself facing an empty home full of memories that shredded him, either because he didn’t want to remember them or because they were no longer his reality.

_…A vampire or a victim  
It depends on who’s around._

Dean snorted. A truer lyric if he’d ever heard one. He slugged back the rest of his drink and pushed the glass away. Ellen looked up from the other end of the bar and nodded. She wrapped up with the beer she was uncapping and handed it to the patron in front of her. Then she wiped her hands on the bar towel she pulled out of her back pocket and wandered over to Dean.

“You done?” She quirked a brow at him and waited.

Dean scrubbed his right hand over his face. “Yeah, El. Close me out.”

She took her time walking over to the register and ringing up his tab. She returned with his bill, took his cash, and grabbed his chin in her hand. Tilting his face up, she looked at his eyes and must have found him lacking.

She hollered back to the kitchen, “Joanna Beth, you put a plate together for Dean and bring it on out here.” Then she turned to Dean and said, “Once you’ve eaten and pass inspection, I’ll give you your keys back.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked. “Yes, mom.”

“Boy, are you sassin’ me? ‘Cause I’m perfectly capable of putting you over my knee and embarrassing the shit outta you in front of all these people.”

Dean almost choked on the effort to not laugh, knowing that the feisty brunette was as good as her threat. Instead, he gave the woman the respect she deserved and had damned well earned from him. “Alright, Ellen. Whatever you say.”

“Damn right, whatever I say,” she grumbled.

Dean watched her turn to help other customers then stood up to go take a leak.

_And, if you listen, I can't call._  
_And, if you jump, you just might fall._  
_And, if you shout, I'll only hear you._

A dark-haired man was standing at the jukebox, silhouetted against the ethereal halo of soft blue light from the selection screen. His head was down, arms spread to either side of the machine, hands gripping the edges like he was afraid to let go. He was wearing a white button-down shirt tucked into dark slacks, sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. Even from across the room, Dean could see how wrecked the guy looked.

Dean’s chest tightened, stomach dropped out from under him. He didn’t know what it was, but he stopped. The noise around him stopped. The world stopped. Everything just…

He flopped back onto his stool while he relearned how his lungs functioned.

*************

Castiel could feel the weight of someone staring at him. He slowly straightened up, dropped his arms to his sides, and turned around to head back to his seat. He casually looked at the other customers while he walked. There was a young red-headed woman sitting in one of the booths, talking animatedly with her hands to a pair of men. He overheard something about a documentary about supernatural phenomenon.

At one of the tables, a thin, bearded man with wild curly hair and glasses was typing furiously on his laptop, completely neglecting the food and drink in front of him.

A man with a mullet was hustling a young Asian kid at the pool table. Castiel shook his head as he watched the older of the pair line up his cue ball and sink two balls with one shot, then bank off a rail to land the 8-ball in a corner pocket. The younger man held out some money, and the older slung one arm around his shoulders and drug him over to the bar with a grin on his face.

Seated a few stools down from the spot Castiel had chosen was a middle-aged gentleman in a black suit, drinking something in a hurricane glass that was garnished with an umbrella and what appeared to be a red, plastic pitchfork. He was holding a conversation with a pale, gaunt man in a long coat who was eating a slice of pizza with a fork and knife.

At the far end of the bar, a pretty blonde woman was speaking to an attractive man in a plaid shirt. Castiel watched as she placed a plate of food and glass of water on the bar in front of him. The man bit into his burger and said something to her while still chewing. She replied back and he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She made a show of acting disgusted while he continued eating, then walked through a door that Castiel assumed led to the kitchen.

None of these people were paying any attention to him. He must have been mistaken about being watched. He returned to the bar, and his thoughts drifted back to a time when he was happier. A time when he didn’t feel so alone. The time before death splattered his hopes and dreams in a wash of blood.

_Three o'clock in the morning_  
_It's quiet, there's no one around,_  
_Just the bang and the clatter_  
_As an angel runs to ground._  
_Just the bang and the clatter_  
_As an angel hits the ground._

As the last strains of the song played, he wiped at the tear running down his face. He couldn’t be here anymore. Standing abruptly, he put on his trench coat and left the bar.

*************

“…ean.”

“Dean.”

“DEAN!”

Dean jerked to attention, Jo’s voice shocking him out of his stupor. “What?”

The petite blonde looked at him with equal amounts of concern, frustration, and amusement. “Welcome back to the real world, Sleeping Beauty. You want to eat this before it goes cold?”

She placed a glass of water and a plate with a bacon cheeseburger and fries in front of him. Dean would never admit it, but he might have drooled a bit at the scent drifting up from the plate. It definitely wasn’t because of the…nope, not going there. He shoveled salty goodness into his pie hole then groaned at Jo with a wad of burger in his cheek. “Thanks, Jo. I didn’t realize how badly I needed this.”

“Yeah, well, mom orders and I obey. Just doing my job.”

Dean leaned across the bar and smooched her on the cheek.

“Dude! Get your greasy lips off of me!” She wiped at her face with his napkin and chucked it at him. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m adorable, and you know it,” Dean bragged, mouth now full of fries.

Jo rolled her eyes and turned back to the kitchen. She sauntered through the door, putting a little extra swing in her hips as she walked away. Dean shook his head and dove back into his meal. He had to give her credit for knowing how to get a guy’s attention, as misguided as the attempt was.

Ten minutes later, the food in front of him had been demolished and the glass of water was empty. Dean walked the plate back into the kitchen, took it to the sink, and washed and dried it himself. Jo looked up from the grill she was manning and gave him a small smile. He strode over behind her and gave her a quick, one-armed hug.

“I’m going to check in with your mom and head out if she’ll give me my keys. Seriously, thanks for the grub, Jo. That was the best burger I’ve had in a long time.”

She sighed. “You’re welcome, Dean. Just get home safe and get some damn rest, will ya?”

Dean laughed and returned to the storefront to face the Spanish Inquisition.

Ellen stepped out from behind the bar and asked, “You feeling better?” Dean replied with an affirmative.

“Let me see those peepers.”

Dean looked down at the shorter woman and gave her some intense eye-to-eye. This time she found him up to snuff because she pulled his keys out of her left hip pocket and dropped them into his hand.

“You text me and let me know you got home safe, you hear me?”

Dean nodded his agreement, and Ellen pulled him down into a hug. He held on a bit longer than necessary and whispered in her ear, “Love you, Ellen.”

She hugged him tighter and brusquely said, “Of course you do. Who else is gonna feed your broody ass?” She then bussed him on the cheek and walked back behind her bar to tend to her clientele.

Dean made his way toward the exit, subtly looking for a mop of unruly dark hair and a white shirt. But the man who had drawn Dean’s attention wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time posting here, so be kind, please. Constructive criticism, commentary, kudos...they're all welcome. And if you see any typos or grammatical errors, by all means, point them out. Extra eyes are appreciated!
> 
> This has the potential to be more, but I make no promises. It's taken me months and much browbeating and encouragement from many sources (GertieCraign, omgbubblesomg, Dangerousnotbroken, to name a few) to post even this much. If you enjoyed it, thank them by reading their work. They, along with Salty and Krewe, are all amazingly talented authors who deserve to be loved. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for minor character death and implied suicide.

The sky had grown overcast while Castiel was inside the bar. A light rain was starting to fall, just enough to slick the ground and warrant caution. Castiel drove home doing three miles under the posted speed limit. He wasn’t anywhere near being drunk, but he didn’t want to put himself or other drivers at risk by driving irresponsibly. The sedate pace of the car was actually soothing to his troubled mind. He let the sound of the wheels on pavement lull him into a calmer state, let the memories wash away with the swish of the windshield wipers.

He arrived home and pulled the Continental into his garage. After hanging his trench coat in the hall closet, Castiel headed straight to his bedroom, changed into a t-shirt and boxers, plugged his cell phone in to charge, and climbed into bed. Curling onto his side and pulling his comforter over his shoulder, he nuzzled into his pillow and fell asleep. And he had the dream.

 

_He was behind the wheel of a dark sedan. The wipers were going full speed, just barely clearing the windshield enough for him to see past the deluge of rain pouring outside. He wouldn’t normally have been out in weather this extreme, but a friend had called in need of his counsel. This type of situation made it difficult to set aside his emotional attachment as a friend and act in a professional capacity._

_He had his phone set to speaker mode and was listening to his friend, Hael, on the other end of the line._

_“I just feel so lost. It’s so dark in my head, and I don’t feel like I’m ever going to move past this feeling of hollowness inside.” There was a pause, followed by a gasp of air. “I just want it to be over, Cas. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”_

_Dangerous words. “I’m on my way, but stay on the phone with me and keep talking.”_

_“I don’t understand. There’s nothing rational about how I’m feeling. I don’t know why I can’t get past this,” Hael sobbed._

_“Your thoughts and feelings are valid. They don’t have to make sense, Hael, but they also don’t have to dictate your actions. Where are you now?”_

_“I’m in my bathroom, curled up in a ball in the tub.”_

_“Okay,” Castiel said. “Do you think you can get up to unlock the door for me when I get there?”_

_She asked, “How far away are you?”_

_“It’s pouring down rain outside, so it’s taking me a little bit longer than it should. I think I can be there in 15 minutes. Keep talking to me. What were you doing before you started feeling this way?”_

_“I came home from work early because I wasn’t feeling well. When I got here, I crawled into bed and took a nap. It didn’t relax me like it normally does, so I tried fixing myself some tea and listening to some music.” Hael took a deep breath._

_“Okay. How did that go?”_

_“The tea helped, but the music just made everything worse. I chose classical because I thought it would be soothing, but instead it just made me feel stretched thin.”_

_“What did you do next,” Castiel asked._

_“I shut it off and curled up on the couch. I probably should have switched it to something else instead, something that wasn’t me with only my thoughts in my head, but I wasn’t thinking that clearly.”_

_Castiel asked, “And how did you wind up in the bathtub?”_

_“The living room felt too big. I needed some place smaller. Somewhere where I didn’t feel so exposed.”_

_“What about that made you feel exposed?” And that was the wrong question to ask. Hael started sobbing. “Please talk to me. I’m almost there, but I need you to keep talking to me.”_

_“I…I, I can’t, Cas. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t **be** this anymore! I’m so tired. So tired.”_

_“Okay, I’m almost there,” Castiel pleaded. “Why don’t you start getting up and get the door unlocked for me. I’m just a couple minutes away.”_

_He heard shifting on the other end of the phone. Half a minute later he heard a drawer being opened._

_“Hael, are you still there? Please keep talking to me. I’m almost there.”_

_On the other end of the line, he heard his friend say, “Sorry, Cas. I’m just not strong enough. I don’t want to live like this anymore. Thank you for being my friend. I am so sorry to have put this on you.” And then the line went dead._

 

Castiel bolted upright in bed, breath heaving in and out of his chest. There were tears on his face, and his throat was raw with the screams he’d held back, the screams he’d denied himself when he had finally been admitted into the apartment to ID his friend.

How could he have been so stupid! He should have called the cops the minute he got the phone call. He knew that Hael was at risk, could tell by the tone of her voice that she wasn’t in good headspace. He should have called for a suicide watch before he ever got in the car. He knew. He _knew!_ He should have called, and he would live the rest of his life with the knowledge that that missed phone call could have been the difference between Hael’s life and death.

Castiel reached over to his bed-side table and grabbed his phone. The digital clock read 1:33 in the morning. There was no way he was getting back to sleep any time soon, so he got up, fixed himself a cup of hot tea, and curled up on his couch. It didn’t escape his notice that he was mirroring the actions of his lost friend, but returning to the bedroom wasn’t an option, and the idea of walking into the bathroom made his chest tighten up all over again. He turned on his television and set it to a channel showing reruns of some show about two brothers who hunted monsters. Wasn’t really his type of show, but he wasn’t really watching; it was just background noise for his overwrought brain. He made it through three episodes before he passed out from exhaustion on the couch.

*************

Dean texted Ellen once he was home, then set his alarm for 7:30 before faceplanting on his bed. The memory foam cushioned his fall and he was drooling onto his pillow within minutes.

 

_He was walking through the woods. Narrow beams of sunlight pierced through the foliage of pines, oaks, maples, and hickories. The warmth of summer poured over him, causing him to break out in a sweat. A sudden gust of chill wind blew through the trees, scattering leaves and small twigs to the ground. At Dean’s feet lay a long, black feather, lightly sheened in what appeared to be oil. He picked it up to examine it closer and discovered what he thought to be oil was actually a thin coating of blood. He looked to the ground and saw a dead raven lying a few feet away. Its wings were spread wide, its neck bent at an unnatural angle. Dean stepped over to it, delicately scooped it into his hands, and moved to the base of a tree, where he set it down gently and proceeded to dig it a grave. After placing the bird in the small hole and covering it with dirt, he tucked the feather into the breast pocket of his flannel shirt, over his heart, and stood slowly. He stared down at his hands, covered in soil and blood, then wiped them over his face and turned and made his way through the woods._

 

Dean awoke to the sound of his alarm and Asia’s “Heat of the Moment” blaring from the radio. He slapped his hand down on the snooze button, rolled over onto his back, and tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about. Whatever it was had left him agitated and uneasy.

He stripped out of the clothes he didn’t have the energy to change out of the night before and headed into the bathroom for a shower. He waited for the water to heat up before stepping in, then worked some shampoo through his hair and rinsed it out. Soaping up his loofah, Dean scrubbed it over his body, washing away the remnants of his restless night. While washing his face, he remembered his binge drinking from the night before and made a mental note to bake Ellen and Jo a pie as thanks for making sure he sobered up and got home in one piece.

Dean stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, socks, and his work boots. He grabbed his wallet, keys, and phone off of his nightstand, then walked in to the kitchen and fixed himself a travel mug of coffee. He was out the door and on his way to Singer Automotive by 8:15.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter requires some suspension of belief. While I work in the medical field, it is not in the capacity of a doctor, counselor, or therapist. Castiel’s actions are not based on actual medical practice. They are completely fictional and my take on how I saw this scenario going, and should by no means be taken as serious medical advice. If you are experiencing similar emotions and need assistance, I beg you to seek it. There are avenues for every situation, and you are not alone in your fight to make it through the day. <3


	3. Chapter 3

“C’mon, Cassie! Don’t be such a stick in the mud. You have zero social life, darling. It’s Saturday. Let’s live a little!”

Castiel groaned. “’Zar, I don’t have the energy to keep up with you. Why don’t you go by yourself?”

Balthazar’s brows dipped and his face took on a look of amused bafflement. “Cassie, you wound me. Here I am, trying to instill a sense of fun in this dismal existence you call life, and you reject me? Does my friendship mean nothing to you?”

Castiel could feel a headache building behind his eyes. He enjoyed Balthazar’s company, but the man could be extremely draining to be around. He spun around in his chair and faced his friend where he was propped up against the door frame. With utmost sincerity, Castiel looked Balthazar in the eye and said, “Your friendship means the world to me, as you well know. But I’ve only had one day off in the past two weeks. I’m tired and really just want to go home and sleep. Can we plan something for another day?”

With a melodramatic sigh, Balthazar walked over to Castiel’s desk and leaned against it. “Of course, dearest. I just hate seeing you wasting away when you should be out enjoying life. You’re far too young to be so bogged down in your job. Promise me you’ll let me take you out next weekend.”

“Okay, ‘Zar. But nothing too extreme, please? Ease me into it.”

“Why, Cassie, whatever do you mean? Do you really think I’m the kind of friend who would try to tempt you into something you weren’t completely comfortable with?”

Castiel huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. “Three words: birthday lap dance.”

Balthazar chuckled. “Oh, come now, darling. You have to admit, I looked damn fine in those gold spandex shorts.”

“You looked damn _something_ in those shorts,” Castiel stated only slightly under his breath.

“Well, I know the lovely couple who accompanied me home that night seemed to think so,” he replied with a saucy wink. “Come on, Cassie. Shut it down for the day and let me walk you to your car so you can get home to that lovely bed of yours.”

Castiel turned back to his desk and logged out of all of his programs before shutting down his computer. He gathered his belongings and then walked through the office to be sure everything was secured and the lights were off. Balthazar waited for him outside while he locked the door, and then he walked him to the Continental. Castiel opened the driver’s side door and leaned through to place his messenger bag on the passenger’s side seat. He turned back to his friend and told him, “Thank you for the escort to my car. I believe I can take it from here.”

Balthazar leaned in for a hug and said, “Of course you can. Text me when you get home, love, and I’ll get in touch with you next week to discuss our weekend plans.”

“Okay, Balthazar. I’m trusting you to not go overboard.”

Kissing Castiel on each cheek in farewell, Balthazar whispered, “It’s almost like you don’t know me at all, dearest.” He then turned and sauntered to his low-slung, black European import car and climbed in and drove off with a honk and wave.

Cas sighed, got behind the wheel of his car, started it up and drove home.

*************

Sunday morning, all Castiel wanted to do was lay in bed and forget his life existed, but the overtime he’d been putting in at the office meant his personal life, or what passed for one, had fallen by the wayside. His house was a disaster, his laundry was in desperate need of washing, and his refrigerator and pantry were almost bare.

He loaded his permanent press into the washing machine and got out his Swiffer. Pulling up the pop playlist on his phone, Castiel set to work sweeping the hardwood floors of his dining room and kitchen while Lady Gaga sang about a bad romance. After that was done, he got out the surface cleaner and proceeded to wipe down his stove, fridge, counters, and cabinets. He cleaned the inside of his microwave then hand-washed and dried his dirty dishes.

He switched the permanent press to the dryer and loaded his whites into the washer. Moving back into the living room, Castiel hummed along with Adam Levine and took a moment to do his best Mick Jagger impersonation before dusting the tables and entertainment center. Then he broke out the vacuum so he could clean the carpet, curtains, and sofa and love seat upholstery.

By the time he was finished, he was sweaty and covered in dust, so he grabbed his phone and made for the bathroom. He cleaned the sink and toilet, then turned the shower on and stripped out of his grungy clothes and threw them in the laundry hamper while he waited for the water to heat up.

Stepping over the ledge, Castiel lingered under the shower head for a few minutes, letting the hot water seep into the muscles of his shoulders and back, then he tilted his head back and got his hair wet. Reaching for his shampoo, he squeezed some into his palm then worked it through his hair, massaging it into his scalp. He rinsed it out, then grabbed his bottle of body wash and loofah and scrubbed away the sweat and grime coating his skin while singing along to George Michael’s One More Try.

After rinsing off, he stepped out of the shower and toweled off, then walked into his bedroom and grabbed a pair of boxers, t-shirt, and jeans out of his dresser drawers. He slid the boxers on and grabbed the empty hangers out of his closet. Then Castiel went to the laundry room and started pulling his clothes out of the dryer. He set aside anything that was slightly wrinkled to be ironed later and hung the rest and took them to his closet. Returning to the laundry room, he transferred the whites to the dryer then went back to his bedroom and finished dressing.

Slipping on socks and his sneakers, Castiel grabbed his wallet, keys, and phone and made a list of groceries to pick up at the store. He locked his front door and walked out to his driveway, only to discover the air in one of his tires was suspiciously low. He crouched down next to it and noticed a piece of metal in the side. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he looked up the nearest automotive shop and plugged it into the GPS on his phone. He let out a huge sigh, then got behind the steering wheel and headed for Singer Automotive. So much for grocery shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee, whatever could happen at Singer Automotive??? *brick to the head*
> 
> Also, if it isn't apparent by now, I intend to go big and bold with my magical revivification powers in this fic. Screw canon deaths. I'm going all Oprah up in here: "You get your life back. And _you_ get your life back. And _YOU_ get your life back! Everyone gets to live!!" So if you're missing someone in particular, let me know. I'll see what I can do. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Bobby. And the boys finally meet.

Dean rolled out from underneath the Jeep Rubicon he was working on. The owner had brought it in for a tune-up, but they were going to have to talk suspension soon. Bare minimum, the bushings needed to be replaced.

He wiped his hands with the shop rag hanging out of his back pocket and walked through the shop, passing two vehicles waiting to be pulled into a bay. Slow day. He stepped up front to let Bobby know the Jeep was ready and fill him in on the suspension issues. Once finished, he grabbed his next ticket and the keys to what turned out to be a pimptastic gold Lincoln Continental with a flat tire.

“Damn. You are one fugly car.” He got it up on the lift and pulled the tire off, checking it for punctures and tread wear. There was a piece of metal embedded in the side wall. Definitely not going to be a patch job.

Walking the perimeter of the car, Dean checked the tread on the rest of the tires, totally unsurprised to find them all next-to bald. Shaking his head, he headed back in to let Bobby know the bad news.

“Bobby, we got a dead soldier and three bald tires on the Continental. It needs a full set. The driver’s lucky the damn thing didn’t shred out on him.”

Bobby sighed. “I’ll work up a quote for him and find out if he’s willing to do all four.”

“If he’s not, I’m not touching it. You can see if Ash or Garth want to, but I doubt it. I’m willing to talk with the guy if you want me to.”

“Yeah. Might come to that, son. Why don’t you go grab some lunch, and I’ll give this guy a call.

*************

Castiel was sitting in a booth at a fast food restaurant down the street from the shop where his car was currently being examined. The cheeseburger and fries in front of him would normally have made him very happy, but the thought of the money he was expecting to have to spend on a new tire was dampening his mood.

He sighed and looked out the window as he bit into a French fry smothered in ketchup. There weren’t many vehicles in the parking lot, and even fewer people in the restaurant. He watched as a shiny black car pulled in to a parking spot toward the end of the lot, and his gaze followed the driver as he got out and walked through the door and up to the counter to place his order.

The man was wearing a pale grey sweat-stained t-shirt and dark pants that hung a bit loose on his hips. Not that Castiel was paying attention to the man’s hips. He wasn’t. He turned back to his table, then shoved his cheeseburger in his mouth, took a huge bite, and washed it down with a large gulp of soda.

His phone rang from his jeans pocket. Reaching in, he withdrew it and saw an unfamiliar number on the display screen.

“Hello?”

_“Is this Castiel Novak?”_

“May I ask who’s speaking?”

_“This is Bobby Singer with Singer Automotive. Am I talking to Castiel?”_

Cas sighed. “Yes, Mr. Singer. This is Castiel Novak.”

_“Mr. Novak, my tech looked at your tire and it’s not repairable. He also said that your other tires need to be replaced due to tread wear. I’ve got a quote worked up for you for a full set if you want to head back to the shop to discuss it.”_

Castiel thunked his head on the back of the booth. “All four need to be replaced?”

_“Yes, sir. My tech would be happy to go over the condition of the tires with you once you’re here.”_

Groaning, Castiel wadded the remainder of his cheeseburger up in its wrapper and replied, “I’m just down the street from your shop, Mr. Singer. I’ll head your way shortly.”

_“Alright, Mr. Novak. See you soon.”_

Castiel hung up his phone and gathered his trash onto his tray. He took another sip of his drink and hung his head in defeat.

*************

Dean got out of his Baby and walked into the restaurant. He approached the cashier and ordered a bacon double cheeseburger and a large fry and Coke to go. It wasn’t Roadhouse quality, but it would get him through the day.

After paying, Dean moved to an empty table to wait for his food. Pulling out his phone, he pulled up his Angry Birds app and started killing piggies.

He heard someone’s ringtone go off and a gravelly voice answer. At the mention of Bobby’s last name, Dean’s head shot up. The voice was coming from a booth on the other side of the restaurant. He could see a head of dark hair and hear the tone of exasperation coming from its direction. Crap, that was the owner of the pimpmobile.

Dean’s order number was called. After picking it up at the register, he walked over to the booth where the guy had just hung up his phone and was putting his trash on his tray. Something in the guy’s posture seemed familiar. And that hair.

He cleared his throat and felt his heart skip a beat as the owner turned to face him. It was him—the guy from The Roadhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go, bubbles, they've met. And it's super anti-climactic! Just a random, mundane crossing of paths. It'll get better; I promise.
> 
> Posting is going to be a bit slower from here on out, guys and gals. Real Life is vehemently demanding my presence, which is seriously messing with my writing time. *grrr* Sorry in advance.
> 
> Thanks for all of the kudos, comments, and subscriptions! I'm still shocked anyone is reading this, lol. Love and hugs and all that jazz!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for way too much detail about tires...Seriously, though, no actual trigger warnings. Just an overabundance of tire info.

Castiel heard someone approach the booth he was sitting at and looked up when he heard the clearing of a throat. It was the man who had gotten out of the black car. The one whose hips he definitely hadn’t been looking at and wasn’t almost on eye-level with now.

He looked up into a pair of eyes the most amazing shade of green he’d ever seen. They were flecked with hints of gold and amber, like peridots set in a face that was the perfect blend of masculine and delicate. Taking a moment to collect himself, he asked the man, “Can I help you?”

“Umm,” the man said, “I’m not trying to be rude, but I think I overheard you talking to my boss, Bobby.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Do you work at Singer Automotive?”

“Yeah.” The man reached out a hand. “I’m Dean. You own the Lincoln Continental with the flat tire?”

Castiel gripped Dean’s hand and replied, “Yes. I’m Castiel Novak.”

“Well, Mr. Novak, I’m the one who checked out your car. I’m on my way back to the shop. Can I give you a lift?”

Castiel looked at their still-joined hands and asked, “Aren’t you going to eat? I can walk to the shop.”

Dean huffed in amusement. Releasing his hold on Castiel’s hand, he gestured to his bag of food. “This? It’s not going to take me long to wolf this down. Once we’re back at the shop, I’ll eat while Bobby goes over the tire quote with you. If you want, I can show you what’s wrong with your current set and explain why you need new ones.”

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the man’s presence, Castiel agreed to let Dean drive him to the shop. They walked out to the large black car, and Dean unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for Castiel. After gently closing the door, Dean circled the front of the car and got in the driver’s seat. He put the key in the ignition, turned on the car, turned down the radio, then put the car in gear to head back to Singer Automotive.

Minutes later, Dean pulled up to the door and let Castiel out to go speak with Bobby. Castiel walked in and stood in line behind a gentleman who was combing over his invoice, questioning every line item and why it cost so much. With the patience of a saint, Bobby explained everything to the man and processed payment.

After printing out a receipt for the man, Bobby turned to Castiel and said, “You must be Mr. Novak.”

Castiel nodded and replied, “Yes. Your technician, Dean, happened to be in the restaurant I was eating at and overheard me speaking with you. He drove me back and offered to show me what is wrong with my tires.”

“Sounds good. Did you want to do that before discussing new options with me?”

“No. I’d prefer to see the quote you prepared first, if that’s okay with you.”

“Not a problem, sir.” Bobby turned to the work station behind the register and pulled some paperwork from a folder. “Okay, Mr. Novak. So, what I did here was give you a couple different options. We have a good standard tire that is cost effective, but they’ll wear down quicker than the other two options. There’s also a mid-range all-terrain that will handle wear and tear better. And then there’s a nice all-season tire that has a tread made to withstand rain, snow, heat, you name it. If you buy a set of four, there’s a manufacturer’s discount and a separate mail-in rebate. In addition to that, if you buy the road hazard warranty, you get free alignments for three years and we’ll replace a damaged tire for free. I’ve given you pricing for that, as well as the cost for just a set of two of each.”

Castiel looked at the bottom line on the quotes and could almost hear his wallet cringe. The cost of tires had certainly gone up since the last time he purchased a set.

“I’d like to think about this, Mr. Singer, while Dean shows me the problems with my current tires.”

Bobby nodded, “Of course. I’ll poke my head into the break room and get him for you.”

Castiel took a seat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs situated in the waiting area and pulled out his phone to check his checking account balance while he waited for Dean.

*************

“Hey, Dean. Mr. Novak wants to look at the tires when you’re ready.” Bobby suggested, “Might also want to show him the three I quoted him while you’re with him. Give him the run down on them.”

“Sure thing, Bobby. I’m almost done eating. I’ll be out in a few.”

Dean shoved the last of his burger in his mouth and tossed his garbage, then went to the sink to wash his hands.

Walking into the waiting area, he looked over at Castiel, staring forlornly at his phone, and felt that gut-punch of emotion again. He shoved it away and approached quietly.

“Mr. Novak, if you’re ready?”

Castiel jumped in his seat and looked up at Dean. “Sorry, you startled me.”

Dean chuckled and said, “I’m Batman.”

Tilting his head to the side, Castiel replied, “I don’t understand that reference.”

Dean snorted and quirked an eyebrow. “Follow me.” He walked out to the shop with Castiel on his heels and stopped at the travesty of a car. Gesturing to the flat tire, he showed him the puncture hole in the side wall and explained why a patch wasn’t an option. Then he showed him the tread on all four tires and told him that the state they were in was unsafe to drive on. “You can actually see some feathering at the edges where the rubber is starting to split. And there’s one spot on the front driver’s side tire where the belt is exposed. C’mere, I’ll show you.”

They bent over to look at the tire. Dean said, “See that there? That’s dangerous. You’re lucky that the tire hasn’t shredded out while you’ve been driving it.”

Castiel glanced over at Dean and sighed. “Mr. Singer quoted me costs for a full set and just two of each style he recommended. Is it feasible for me to get two now and replace the other two at a later date?”

Dean straightened back up. “Honestly, I’m not comfortable putting you back on the road with any of these tires on. But I won’t even touch it any further unless you replace the flat and this one. If that’s going to be an issue, we can call a tow truck for you and let you take it somewhere else.”

Castiel leaned against the driver’s side door and asked, “Which tires would you recommend?”

“Let me show you the ones Bobby quoted you.”

They walked back in to the showroom area, and Dean pointed to a tire. “This is the first one he quoted you. The cheapest one. It’s not an awful tire, but it’s going to have to be replaced much sooner than the other two options.”

He led him to another tire and said, “This is the all-terrain. It’s actually what I have on my car. Good for different types of surfaces. If you drive off-roads or on badly paved streets, this is a good option. I chose it because I have to make trips out to salvage yards for parts every now and then, and those dirt roads are riddled with pot holes. But if you’re just going to be driving around the city, I’d recommend the all-season,” and walked him over to the next option. “This one is made to handle driving in every weather condition within reason. It’s got tread that handles well in heavy rain, mild snow, and baking sun. It offers a fairly smooth ride and is great if you’re looking for something practical for city life.”

Dean looked back at Castiel, who looked overwhelmed. “Are you going to be doing any off-roads driving?”

Castiel shook his head, “Not that I’m aware of.”

“I’d go with the all-season, then. It’s pricier, but you’re going to get more mileage out of it than the cheaper option.”

Dean walked Castiel back to the counter where Bobby was helping another customer and collected the quotes. “So, the all-terrain is out. I’ll shred that one. This is the breakdown for each of the other two. Whichever way you go, I’d recommend you get the road hazard. It guarantees replacement if your tire is damaged on the road and can’t be repaired. Without the road hazard, as soon as you drive out of our parking lot, we are no longer liable to replace your tire unless it’s a manufacturer’s defect. Meaning, if you hit a bad pot hole or run over something and blow out five minutes from here, you’d have to replace the tire, again. It happens more often than you’d expect.”

“Okay, the road hazard sounds like a viable idea. I’m just not sure I can justify spending that much on four new tires. If I get just two, how soon would you predict I’ll have to replace the other two?”

Looking Castiel square in the eye, he answered, “Well, that depends on a lot of factors. How many miles you drive a day. How much stop-and-go traffic you deal with. How heavy-footed you are with braking and accelerating. General estimate, you’ve got two to three months left on those tires.”

There was a look of resignation in Castiel’s eyes. “So, what you’re really saying is that I should just replace all four now.”

Dean nodded. “If you want to keep an even tread on your tires and keep them balanced and properly aligned, replacing them all would be my advice." He softly inquired, "What’s your credit like?”

Castiel squinted his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, we have a store credit card, and if you sign up and get approved you can charge it all to your account and then pay in installments over the next six months, interest free. Most people get approved, but not always for the full amount of their services. But if your credit is good…” Dean shrugged. “Just thought it might be another option. I know this is a big expense.”

Castiel sighed in relief. “My credit is good. How do I apply?”

“Gimme a moment.” Dean walked to the counter and came back with an application for credit. “Fill this out for me, then I’ll submit it for approval.” He pulled a pen out of the pocket of his uniform shirt and handed both to Castiel. “I’ll be at the front desk when you’re done.”

Dean watched as Castiel sat down and then approached Bobby. “Mr. Novak is going to apply for credit, so I’ll run that once he’s done filling out the form.” Under his breath, he asked, “Hey, we still got any of those coupons for the friends and family discount? I’m pretty sure he’s gonna get all four done, and I stressed the benefits of the road hazard. If he goes with the all-season, I’d like to cut him a bit of a break.”

The phone started ringing. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve got a few in my drawer. I’ll dig one out for you.”

“Thanks, old man.” Dean grinned.

“Old man, my ass. Get the damn phone.”

Dean popped off a snappy, two-fingered salute and picked the phone up off its cradle. “Singer Automotive. This is Dean. How can I help you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so literally almost all of this comes from actual interactions with my brother, who works for a major tire chain. The exposed belt, the tire quotes, the discounts/rebates…that’s all my brother. Before my poor Grim went to the great salvage yard in the sky, I had to get all four tires replaced on him. My brother quoted me six different tires and broke down the pros/cons, mileage, and pricing. And, yeah, people, get the road hazard coverage. Tires ain’t cheap!
> 
> Also, the updates are going to be so much slower from now on. In an effort to stay ahead of myself, I've promised/threatened my muse that I only get to post a chapter if I write two extra chapters. So maybe send the jerk some happy thoughts, death glares, fresh-from-the-oven baked goods...anything??


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know I said it was going to be a bit before the next post went up, but I've had this chapter done for long enough...and screw last week's episode. Here's your Oprah gift of the week.

Castiel filled out the application then walked up to the counter where Dean was helping another customer.

“Now, Ms. Moseley, I seem to recall telling you last time you were here that you needed to get those brakes looked at. I can’t have my favorite mind-reader getting injured because her brakes don’t work right.” He grinned and then added, “I need you to give me next week’s lotto numbers.”

She harrumphed. “Don’t you be givin’ me lip, Dean Winchester. Those brakes aren’t gonna give out for three more months. And you can forget about those lotto numbers. You got better things waiting for you. Now how long do I have to wait to get my oil changed?”

Castiel snorted under his breath and did his best not to smile as Dean got dressed down by the woman.

“I can see if one of the guys is available soon. You know I’d take care of it for you, but I’ve got some tires to change.” He side-eyed Castiel.

“I know you would, you cocky bastard.” She dug her keys out of her purse and set the one for her car on the counter. “Give the job to Benny. I have something I need to speak with him about anyway. I’ll wait until he’s available.”

A look of serious concern crossed Dean’s face. “Oh, don’t worry, boy. Nothing’s wrong. I just want to offer him a bit of advice.”

Relief washed over Dean’s features and he picked up the key. “I’ll let Benny know you’re waiting.” He turned to Castiel and said, “Be right with you, Mr. Novak.” Then Dean stepped thought the door to the shop to deliver the key.

Ms. Moseley turned around and looked Castiel straight in the eye. “Don’t you let that boy give you any grief. He’s not as charming as he thinks he is.”

Castiel, not knowing how to respond to the comment, and still fighting off mild amusement, nodded in agreement. The woman lightly tapped him on his right shoulder and moved past him to settle down to wait.

After a couple minutes, Dean returned to his position behind the counter and held out his hand. “Let me run that application real quick. Have you decided which tire you want and whether you’re going for the full set?”

Castiel handed over the sheet of paper and replied, “I would like to see if I’m approved first before making the final decision.”

Dean nodded and focused on the screen while typing in info. It took several minutes for the system to process. Castiel reviewed the quotes provided by Mr. Singer, every now and then glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye. He had the lightest dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones, and the stubble on his chin looked like it would...

“Good news. You’re approved.”

Castiel blinked and shook his head distractedly. Swallowing the frog in his throat, he asked, “How much was I approved for?”

Dean printed out a sheet of paper and slid it over the counter. “Don’t worry, Mr. Novak. You’re more than covered for whatever you choose to do today. And if you actually send in the mail-in rebate, you can apply it to a payment.”

“Okay. I guess I should replace all four tires then. And get the road hazard, of course.”

“It costs you more up front, but it really is worth it. And since you’re going to be charging it all on your new account, the mail-in rebate gets doubled. So that helps.”

Castiel nodded. “What is the wait time?”

Dean checked the clock on his computer and then looked at the schedule. “I’ve got a quick oil change scheduled, but then I’m all yours. If you’re staying, it’s probably going to be a couple hours before I’m done. Or you can leave it here if you have someone who can pick you up and drop you back off when it’s ready?”

Looking at the time on his phone, Castiel sighed. “I’ll just wait here then. Please replace all four with the all-season tires and add on the road hazard package.”

Dean responded with a wink. “You got it, Mr. Novak. If you want, there’s complimentary coffee and water in the break room to the left. There’s also a vending machine and a charging station for your phone. And you can change the channel on the television if there’s no one else watching. I’ll come and get you once the work is done.”

Castiel held out his hand. “Thank you for your help, Dean.”

Dean took his hand and smiled. “Happy to be of service.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, until the sound of a throat clearing interrupted them. Castiel let go and turned to find the break room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, bitches! Seriously, though, it's going to be a while before there's another update. Unless the muse gets with the program...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief, my dudes and dudettes. I'm sorry beyond words for the long wait. Good news is, new chapter is up (though not very well proofed, so if you see any glaring typos or grammatical errors, please let me know). More good news: I've made progress on this thing. Bad news? What I'm churning out is not what comes next in the storyline. The muse is being contraryAF and flying in completely non-linear patterns. I've managed to plot out two very important scenes, but they don't tie together or directly to where this ends. Yay?? Boo??? Idefk at this point.
> 
> The glowing beacon in this train wreck is that one of the aforementioned scenes has neatly melded the direction my muse was determined to go with my very strong resistance to follow, as we seem to have come to an understanding of what is going to happen in the future of this fic. It's a hurdle I desperately needed knocked down, and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of my being. Fingers crossed that the words will flow kindly from here on out.
> 
> As always, thanks for sticking with me.

Dean turned and caught the gaze of his boss-slash-surrogate father. “Shut up,” he said, a faint blush rising in his cheeks.

Bobby nodded his head and replied, “Didn’t say anything.”

“Like hell, you didn’t,” he huffed defensively.

The bell above the front door rang.

Suppressing a grin, Bobby smacked Dean on the back and pushed him towards the door leading to the shop. He quietly uttered, “Why don’t you get to work on your boyfriend’s car. I’m not paying you to stand around and stare, all googly-eyed.” Then he snickered and turned around to greet the new customer.

Dean grumbled under his breath on his way to the Continental. He glanced up and saw Benny approaching.

“Hey, Benny. ‘d you talk with Missouri?”

The look on Benny’s face was an odd mix of horror, delirium, and giddiness. “Yeah. She said that Andrea’s pregnant and that we should visit a nutritionist because there’s gonna be complications if we don’t.”

Dean’s brows shot up his forehead. “Dude, you’re pregnant?”

Benny gestured erratically. “I don’t know? Haven’t confirmed it with Andrea, yet. But maybe?” He shrugged. “Missouri don’t bullshit about that kinda thing.” It was almost funny, seeing such a big, burly guy look so befuddled. Almost.

Dean grabbed Benny and pulled him in for a hug. “Congrats, brother!” He squeezed the hell out of his friend then pushed him back and gripped his shoulder. “Why don’t you call Andrea then go clock out and head on home to your woman. I’ll get one of the other guys to check out Missouri’s car for you.”

Benny slumped, the tension visibly leaving his body. He wiped his hand over his face with a “Thanks, brotha” and headed inside to make his phone call in private.

Dean found Garth and Ash discussing the merits and downfalls of the newer computers in cars and how they were making life more complicated for mechanics. Ash was just saying, “Yeah, but I love the challenge of it, man. The technology inside… I love the whole ‘ghost in the machine’ aspect. It gets my gray matter all fired up.”

Interrupting, Dean asked, “Hey, Garth, think you could do the oil change on Ms. Moseley’s car? Benny’s gotta cut out.”

“Sure thing. I hope he’s okay. He looked a bit ill.” The furrow between his brows deepened.

“Nah, he’s fine. Just needs to head home to check on something.”

“Well, okay then. I’ll just get to work. Just the oil change?” he asked with a small lift of his eyebrows.

Dean nodded his assent and added, “Yeah, but if you could stress to her that she needs to get her brakes done once you’ve worked up her ticket, that would be appreciated. She’s fighting me on it. Try to at least get her scheduled.”

The smile that spread across Garth’s face was like a sunbeam. “Sure thing, boss.”

Dean smacked him on the arm and said, “Don’t call me that. I’m not the one cutting your paycheck.”

Garth replied, “Not now. But we all know Bobby’s going to retire one day and…” Dean cut him off. “Yeah, but that day ain’t today, so still stands.”

Garth just grinned and said, “Whatever you say, boss.” Then he turned to Missouri’s old beat up Corolla and grabbed a drain pan.

Dean just shook his head and turned to Castiel’s waiting car. “Alright, Blanche, let’s get you all fixed up.”

*************

Castiel was sitting in the break room, sipping from a bottle of water. He changed the channel to a world news report and sank into one of the slightly more comfortable chairs to watch while Dean changed the tires on his car.

He was lamenting the state of America’s current political climate when he heard a shout from the front of the store. He got out of his chair and poked his head through the door to see a large man sweeping Ms. Moseley into his arms then twirl her around like she weighed nothing more than a feather.

The woman smacked him on the back of the head and said, “Boy, if you don’t put me down I’m gonna whack you with a spoon!”

The man set her back on her feet and kissed her soundly on the lips. She looked a bit flustered but recovered quickly. “Well, what are you waiting for, Benny! Get your finely shaped behind home to that wife of yours.”

The man, presumably Benny, kissed her once more on the cheek and ran out the door.

Shaking her head, Ms. Moseley muttered, “I swear. You’d think these boys didn’t have any manners. Picking people up and flinging them around like children. And in a place of business, no less.” Though, Castiel could see the slight tilting of her lips, hinting at a smile.

She glanced up and spotted Castiel watching her and walked over. “What are you looking at, Castiel Novak?”

Castiel froze. He hadn’t introduced himself to her, though Dean had used his last name in front of her. “How do you know my name?”

“I know all kinds of things,” she proclaimed. “Now come sit with me and let’s have a little talk.”

*************

Dean had the radio of Castiel’s car tuned to the local classic rock station. He was humming along to Back in Black while removing the old tires from the Continental. As he worked, he thought about the car’s owner. There was something there. The intensity of the eye and skin contact hadn’t just been his imagination, had it?

He unscrewed the last lug nut and hauled off the punctured tire. It was placed on top of the stack of its companions, and the new tires were rolled over to be put on the car. Dean sang along to ‘70s and ‘80s rock as he made sure the new soldiers were properly balanced and aligned, thinking of blue eyes the entire time.

Once the car was back on four wheels, Dean drove it around to the front of the shop and walked in to work up the invoice and process the payment. He poked his head through the door of the break room and stopped for just a few seconds to admire the view of Castiel Novak drinking from a bottle of water. His eyes trailed the bob of the man’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Like he could sense he was being watched, Castiel turned towards to doorway and met Dean’s stare.

Dean cleared his throat. “Your car’s ready whenever you are, Mr. Novak. If you’ll come with me to the front desk, I have your paperwork ready to sign and your key.”

Castiel stiffly stood up from the chair he’d been in for nearly two hours. He followed Dean to the front of the store and listened as the line items of the invoice were gone over and the road hazard warranty was explained again.

“What is this extra fifteen percent discount?”

The corner of Dean’s mouth lifted. “It’s the friends and family discount,” he stated quietly. “You looked pretty shocked when I hit you with the full dollar amount earlier, so I cleared it with my boss to tack on the extra savings.”

Castiel’s head tilted to the side and he inquired, “But why would you do that? I am neither friend nor family to you.”

Dean shrugged. “Just wanted to help. If you wanna make it up to me, you can buy me dinner.” He chuckled lightly and winked.

Castiel gazed at him and said, “I think I’d like that, Dean.”

Dean paused. He’d been joking. Slightly. Not really, but... With a flustered huff, he passed the paperwork over to Castiel and gestured to the front door. “Let me walk you out to your car so I can show you the new set of tires and make sure you’re completely satisfied with your purchase.”

They walked through the door and out to the Continental, parked at the curb. “So, this tread is going to give you better traction in rain and grip better on dry, heated road. You should notice the ride is much smoother and the car should handle better.” He took a deep breath. “Give me your phone.”

Castiel squinted in question but handed his cell phone to Dean.

“I’m plugging the number for the shop into your contacts. If you have any questions or concerns, give us a call.” He handed Castiel’s phone back along with the car key.

Nodding, Castiel put the phone in his pocket and offered his hand to Dean. “Thank you very much for everything, Dean. This was not he way I expected to spend my day, but it was pleasant nonetheless.”

Dean snickered and shook Castiel’s hand. “You’re welcome, Castiel. Be safe out there. Watch out for sharp objects.”

Castiel smiled and turned to his car. Dean opened the driver’s door for him, and stood back as Castiel got in. Their eyes met again as Castiel turned the key in the ignition, and Dean knocked on the top of the car then turned and walked back in to the shop.

Castiel shifted his car into gear and slowly let off the brakes. He drove away from Singer Automotive and made his way to the grocery store, the road stretching softly under new rubber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I always imagine Dean as the kinda guy who names the cars he works on, hence him naming Cas’s car “Blanche”. Dean chose that name as a reference to the television show “The Golden Girls” (mentioned in episode 11x11 “Into the Mystic”) and one of its main characters. Blanche is a feisty and showy older woman who is also very sexually aggressive, and in my private head-canon, Dean totally would have hit that. You’re not going to convince me otherwise.
> 
> P.S. Just a little hint, my lovely readers. Dean’s thoroughness and attention to detail are not isolated to his work environment. *wink* But we’re not there yet. *dodges rotten tomatoes*
> 
> P.P.S. Updates will still be sporadic, but if you're still here, still reading, I promise I will not abandon this. You're my motivation to keep working on this, and I appreciate your time. Thanks for being amazing and loyal minions. <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formatting on this was a bitch, and I'm still not happy with it. *grumble, grumble*

After unloading groceries and making sure everything was stored properly, Castiel walked to his bedroom and changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants. He slumped down onto his bed and plugged his phone in to charge. He checked the notepad app he kept his grocery list on to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important. Then he pulled up his contacts on his phone and scrolled, looking for Singer Automotive. Instead, he found an entry for Dean Winchester.

Pulling up his messaging app, he sent a new text.

**March 25, 2017**

**6:15 PM**  
**This isn’t the phone number for Singer Automotive. At least, not according to your business card.**

**6:22 PM**  
**Check further down your contacts list.**

 

Castiel pulled up his contacts and thumbed through to the S’s. Singer Automotive was listed after his cousin Samandriel.

 

**6:24 PM**  
**I found it. Is there a reason your personal phone number is in my contacts?**

**6:25 PM**  
**Just a precaution.**  
**Never know when you might break down on the side of the road. ;)**

 

Castiel was unsure if Dean was just being friendly or if he was flirting. 

 

**6:26 PM**  
**I see.**  
**Are you, by chance, flirting with me, Dean?**

**6:26 PM**  
**Possibly. Might need to test that theory a bit further.**

 

Castiel could picture the smirk on Dean’s face. He replied:

 

**6:26 PM**  
**I’m not sure how to respond to that.**

**6:26 PM**  
**Invite me to dinner again.**

**6:29 PM**  
**Are you there?**

**6:34 PM**  
**Look, man. I’m sorry if I misunderstood.**  
**I’ll stop bugging you.**

*************

Dean was done for the day after finishing up Castiel’s car, so he waved goodbye to Bobby and headed to his favorite pizza joint for a large stuffed-crust pepperoni. Taking it to go, he drove home and changed into a worn pair of jeans and his favorite Led Zeppelin shirt.

Parked on the couch, he turned on the tv and pulled up his Netflix account. He’d been binge watching Lucifer and had to admit he’d give his left nut to spend an evening at LUX. He was laughing at Dan’s obvious frustration with having Lucifer shadowing him when his phone pinged, indicating he had a text message.

He finished the slice of pizza he was eating and wiped his hands. Tapping the home button, he pulled up the new message. It was from an unfamiliar number, but the message itself was a clear indicator of who it was. He saved the info to his contacts under ‘Castiel’ and responded.

He couldn’t quite tell from the exchange if Castiel was confused or just very direct, but he was willing to bet it was a bit of both. And the impression he got from being around him at the shop led him to believe the guy was a bit naïve, but he also seemed to return Dean’s interest, so he decided to test the waters a bit.

Apparently, he misread the situation, though. After apologizing for his mistake, he tried to get back into the next episode, but all he was getting from it was something about yoga.

“Sonufabitch. How did I get that so wrong?”

He shoved the pizza box closed, picked it up off the table, and took it to the kitchen. After putting it in the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of Margiekugel out of the six-pack and then returned to the living room to turn off the television and grab his phone.

Gulping down beer as he walked into his bedroom, he put the phone and beer on his nightstand then stripped down to take a shower. He threw his dirty clothes into his hamper and walked into the bathroom. He had inherited the house when his parents passed away and had slowly been making renovations as funds allowed, which wasn’t often. His first order of business had been the master bath. He’d taken out the tub and added in a large shower tiled in dark grey slate with brushed steel fixtures. The foot-wide rainfall style showerhead and matching handheld spray wand were expensive as hell, but damn did he enjoy the water pressure.

Dean stepped in and turned the handle to a lukewarm temperature then stepped under the spray. He let the water pour over him for a few minutes, lost in the feel of tension spilling from his muscles. Soaping up, he took time washing the sweat and grime of the day’s work from his skin, then shampooed his hair. After rinsing the soap from his body and head, he stood under the falling water, head hung low, arms propped against the wall. His dick twitched at him. With a resigned sigh, he looked down at his favorite appendage and muttered, “Sorry, bud. Don’t think anything’s happening in that department. He sure was something to look at, though, wasn’t he?”

Cranking the water off, he stepped out of the shower and toweled off, then pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants. Picking his beer and phone back up off the nightstand, he walked into the kitchen and dug through his pantry for flour, salt, sugar, and spices. After setting them on the counter, he killed the soldier and put the empty bottle in the recycle, then grabbed butter out of the fridge. Pulling a lemon and several apples out of the basket of fruit on the counter, he began the process of baking a pie for Ellen and Jo.

*************

Castiel could kill his brother. Gabriel’s timing was, as always, impeccably awful. Still, Castiel answered the phone when his screen lit up with Gabe’s contact information.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

“Hey, little bro. How’s things?”

With a roll of his eyes, Castiel responded as politely as possible. “I’ve worked almost every day for the past two weeks. I went into a cleaning frenzy this morning, and my apartment is as spotless as it was when I moved in. Balthazar is planning my demise in the form of entertainment for some upcoming weekend—no, you are not invited—and I spent a small fortune replacing the tires on my car today. That’s how things are.” He couldn’t help the edge of frustration that slipped out toward the end of his reply, noticing the notification sound on his phone indicating he had a new text.

Gabe’s low whistle on the other end of the line was grating. “Hell, Cassie, sounds like you need a break. I’m sure Balthy’s got something up his sleeve that will get you out of your funk. And color me hurt, bro. Why can’t I come along?”

“You are not relaxing to be around, Gabriel, and you very well know it. Perhaps you and Balthazar should go ‘hang out’ while I find other ways to relax.”

“Did you just air quotes me, Cas? Seriously?”

Castiel just grunted in reply.

With a sigh, Gabe replied, “Alright, pal. Aside from the obvious, what’s got your panties in a twist? I mean, you’re always grumpy, but this is a new level for you.” 

Rolling over on his side, Castiel curled into himself. “I apologize, Gabriel. I’m just tired. The days have been long and draining, and I’m taking my bad temper out on you. You don’t deserve that.”

Gabe snorted. “Well, I mean, I kinda deserve it. What else are big brothers good for, if not taking grief from their younger siblings?”

Sometimes Gabriel amazed him. Castiel was the one with the fancy credentials to counsel people, but it was rare that someone realized he, too, needed an outlet for his emotions, a sounding board for his problems. “You’re not a horrible brother, despite the fact that I often treat you as such. And I appreciate your understanding and willingness to put up with my bad moods.”

“Aww, Cassie, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

Castiel could hear the grin in Gabe’s voice. “You’re still an ass.”

Gabe’s burst of laughter actually made him smile. “Runs in the family, little bird.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at the nickname. “Never fear. I don’t.” His phone dinged again. “Was there an actual reason you called, Gabe?”

“What? The dulcet sound of my voice isn’t enough for you? I can’t just want to check in on my little bro?”

“No.” It was harsh and true.

A small huff, then Gabe returned, “Well, checking in on you was part of my reason for calling. But I also wanted to see if you want to have dinner soon. I miss seeing you, bro.”

Castiel felt like a terrible brother. “I miss you, as well. And, yes, I would like to meet up for dinner. Or perhaps we could just dine in and cook something together. Have a quiet night to catch up? How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect, Cas. My place or yours?”

“Yours. My kitchen is not fit for more than one body in it.”

“Keeping bodies in your kitchen, Cassie? Sounds like we really do need to catch up.”

“Ha ha, Gabriel. How does Italian sound? I can make sauce for spaghetti ahead of time and bring it with me.”

Castiel could hear a purr of contentment over the line. “Oh, Cas, you dirty boy. Talk pasta to me.” Cas groaned. “You bring the sauce; I’ll get some angel hair, salad makings, and a bottle of wine. And if you’re really good, I’ll cook you dessert.”

The corner of Cas’s mouth lifted in a reluctant smile. He never could resist Gabriel’s desserts.

“Does Thursday work for you?”

Gabe responded with an affirmative and they hung up after quite a bit more meaningless chit chat and finalizing their plans. He actually felt lighter, surprisingly. By the time Castiel was done with the conversation, his text notification had gone off twice more. He checked to see that he had four new text messages from Dean. After reading them, he responded immediately.

**7:17 PM**  
**My apologies, Dean. My brother called, and I have been negligent in my communication with him recently. I didn’t mean to lead you to think you were bothering me. I was greatly enjoying our exchange. If you are still willing, I would very much like to have dinner with you.**

Cas set his phone next to him on the bed and curled up with a paperback, hoping Dean would text him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize. I don't even have an excuse for the delay on this, other than total lack of inspiration or motivation to write. I'm going to try to be better about posting, but it's going to be sporadic and probably very inconsistent. If you're still here, thanks for bearing with me. Y'all are the best. <3


End file.
